


Sherlock One-Shots + Stuff

by GemAlchemist



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-01
Updated: 2017-05-01
Packaged: 2018-10-26 01:02:12
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,924
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10776198
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GemAlchemist/pseuds/GemAlchemist
Summary: One-Shots and StuffMaybe AU One-ShotsMostly Reader InsertsFeel free to request





	Sherlock One-Shots + Stuff

Something had been bothering Sherlock. Something annoyed him to no end. He was more annoyed with it than he was with Andersen, which was quite a bit. John could easily tell his friend was annoyed, because he wouldn’t stop moaning and throwing patches on his arm.   
“Sherlock, is there anything bothering you by any chance?” he asked, looking over the morning’s paper.  
“I believe I may be getting ill.”  
“Ill? You sure? you look fine to me.”  
Sherlock threw his companion and are-you-serious look. John was a doctor! Surely he could see something was off.  
“Fine, I’ll just go down to the hospital since the doctor here refuses a patient.”  
“Sherlock,” John rubs his eyes, “please, tell me what’s plaguing you.”  
John was met with silence. Sherlock placed his hands under his chin.”   
“Sherlock, are you sick or-”  
“Shh, thinking.”  
John then tilted his head and glared at the man lying on the couch. Of course, he had to make John start a conversation, only to very rudely end it. At least, that’s what John thought. Sherlock was indeed thinking. About how to say what his symptoms were in the correct manner.   
He opened his mouth and then closed it, not knowing how to describe everything right. That did not go unnoticed by John. He now knew his friend was trying to explain something, but was having trouble. Which was extremely odd by Sherlock standards. The man quickly became rather worried for his sociopathic friend. Sherlock never had any trouble explaining anything. Whatever it was, must be serious.  
“Whenever you’re ready.” John said quietly.  
A few more moments of silence passed before Sherlock quickly stood up. He walked over to his chair, facing John, and opened his mouth to speak.  
“My chest. It feels like a heart attack almost, extremely quickened pace, shortness of breath. I can’t think straight….I can’t even look at her.”   
“Her Sherlock? Who's her?”  
“(Name).”  
John nodded, still looking at him, “anything else?”  
Sherlock paused, lips formed a straight line.  
“I can’t even think while I’m thinking of her. And I can’t STOP thinking of her. Her (hair color/length) hair, her (eye color) eyes. Perhaps it’s her perfume? I’m probably just allergic to her perfume. It’s messing with my head. That’s the probably it. Sorry to bother you.”  
Sherlock went back to the couch and rolled to face the back, pouting because he still didn’t believe his own theory.  
John only smiled before mentally chuckling at his friend. Sherlock Holmes just described being in love. And he was going to let him fret over his feelings for just a little longer, perhaps in an hour he’d tell him.

\---------------------------  
Surely enough, an hour later, Sherlock was still pouting to the back of the couch and John remained in his chair.   
“Okay, Sherlock. I believe I have my diagnosis.”  
“What are you on about? I told you I’m simply allergic to her (scent) perfume. Nothing more. Now leave me alone, thinking.”   
“Sherlock, you love her.”  
Sherlock laughed at this. Sherlock Holmes being in love with someone? Impossible. It just simply wasn’t possible. The possibility of Sherlock being in love was so low, it was lower than the possibility of his brother being in love. Simply put, it didn’t happen.  
“Why’re you laughing?”  
“Because, obviously you’re an idiot.”  
“Alright. Obviously her perfume is strong enough to cause you harm, even if you haven’t seen her in a week? How could that possibly be right?”  
Sherlock paused. John WAS right. He hadn’t been anywhere near her in at least a week. It was when they were at the morgue, looking over a body. You worked at the morgue, something like a partner to Molly. He remembers that day specifically because his brother had been there as well, seeing as the body belonged to one of his ‘underlings’.  
“Perhaps you may be onto something. Give me descriptions on what it’s like to be in….love.”

\-------------  
The past three hours have been exhausting. John gave examples of what it feels like to be in love, then Sherlock would call John and his examples stupid, but then take it back by saying he felt that way towards (Name).  
“Sherlock, please. Just admit you’re in love with her.”  
“...Fine. I, Sherlock Holmes, am in love with... (Name) (Last Name).”  
“Okay. Wow….how do you uh feel?”  
“Relatively the same. Why do you ask such stupid questions? And wipe that smirk off your face this instant.”

\-----------  
Three weeks ago Sherlock admitted his feelings about (Name) to John. A new case had brought them to the morgue, to once again, look at a body. To their surprise, John’s pleasure, and Sherlock’s heart failure, you were there.   
John patted Sherlock on the shoulder and called Molly to the hallway to ‘discuss a few things about her autopsy’. Which left the two of you alone.  
“So, uh, (Name).”  
“Yes Sherlock?”  
“I was um...wondering if you would-”  
“Check the blood for substance abuse? Why didn’t I have Molly check that already? Sorry Sherlock, I haven’t really been myself lately.”  
Sherlock paused and thought about what you just said. He usually said something like that. That’s probably why he fell so deeply in love with you. You were just as clever and sharp as he. You weren’t unbearably slow and normal like everyone else.   
“No I was going to say- no wait, that’s a good idea. Get a sample ready. NO! I was going to ask if you would like to go on a date with-”  
“Ahh! Check the body for bruising! He just came in when you and John arrived, so we haven’t had a chance to search for physical harm yet.”  
“No that’s not it either, I- Yes, do please check for physical harm, internal while you’re at it.”  
He wanted to slap himself. Why was this so ungodly difficult?  
The next ten minutes were you undressing the deceased, checking for any missed injuries. That gave him time to sort his mind out and chose his words carefully.  
“(Name).”  
You stopped, turned around, and looked at him.”   
“Yes, Sherlock?”  
“I was wondering if...no. Ugh...Let me start over. I think you….You’re...brilliant. You understand the most simplest things no one else gets. You read people almost as well as I do, you catch up quickly and aren’t a complete waste of my time. Your intelligence is greatly notable and admired. I would appreciate it greatly if you would accompany me on...on a d-date.”  
You let his words sink in. Sherlock Holmes wanted to go on a date with you. He wanted you, of all people. Sure, you knew you were smart, but this was something you never saw coming. How could you respond, in a nice way, a way he would understand.  
“I’m terribly sorry Sherlock...but I have to decline.”   
You quickly turned around and continued your work. You didn’t see his smile turn into a frown. The shine in his eyes slightly dim. His shoulders sag. His mind broke. He didn’t know what to think. His chest felt like there was a hole, which was impossible, but nonetheless, he felt a very large hole. This was NOT what he expected. You were supposed to say yes right? This was the part where the handsome bloke took the pretty girl out for a bite? Obviously Sherlock said something wrong. He did something wrong and decided to retrace his steps.   
All he did was ask you out. He confessed as much as he ever would, and asked you out. You were SUPPOSED to say yes. Why didn’t you? If the table wasn’t behind him, he would have fallen. This was wrong. Something was wrong. He miscalculated something. Something was off. There was no reason for you to say no. There was however, every reason to say yes. You were both brilliant people. A perfect match. Why did you decline?   
He felt his eyes start to water. This wasn’t how it was supposed to go. What did he do wrong? Of all things, why did he have to mess this up? No, he was right about one thing, emotions were a waste of time, and all they did was cause heartbreak and create weakness.   
He probably would have let a tear drop if it not were for the door opening. It was Mycroft, his brother. Which was even more odd. There was no reason for him to be here.  
“Oh, hello brother dear. Something the matter? You look dreadfully pale.”  
Sherlock said nothing and continued to stare into the ground. His heart was broken, he didn’t need Mycroft’s badgering at the moment.  
“Hello dear. Oh my, he’s certainly not having a good day.” Mycroft said, looking to you.   
“Well, Mycroft, it’s what happens when you cheat on your lover.” you replied, looking at the poor soul on the table.  
Mycroft wrapped an arm around your waist and pulled you close.   
“What’s wrong with Sherlock?” he whispered into your ear.  
“I declined his offer of taking me out for a date.” you whispered back.  
Mycroft wanted to feel superior and happy that Sherlock asked HIS girlfriend out, but couldn’t help but feel slightly bad as his brother’s heart was probably just stabbed. He could tell Sherlock wasn’t quite right because he hadn’t said anything. He was just standing there, staring at the floor, eyes very watery, no doubt trying his hardest not to let one single tear drop. It was dreadful, but at the same time, he didn’t feel sorry. After all, if he had acted faster, noticed your intellect faster, noticed how incredibly amazing you are faster, perhaps he would be your boyfriend now. But, that was not the case. Mycroft noticed you first. And as the saying goes, the earliest bird gets the worm. Or something similar.   
Mycroft decided to release you, letting you return to your work. Sherlock however had gotten his brain to work by now, and was thinking about all the signs he had missed. Nearly every time you were here, there was no doubt Mycroft always came at around 8 pm. He always came and asked you, you specifically how you were doing, how your day was, etc. He stood close to you, closer than he ever stood to anyone else. It was so stupid of him not to realize it all sooner. Hell, there was even a mark on your neck, obviously from the previous night. You had tried to cover it, but it was still new and showing strong.  
Sherlock had let his feelings get the better of him, he allowed them to cloud his judgement and deduction skills. He vowed to never let this happen again, to never let something as trivial as emotions take control of him.  
He simply walked out the door, ignored the words that came from your mouth, no doubt apologies. He ignored John shouting at him in the hallway. He just went outside, hailed a cab, and went home.   
There he laid on the couch, facing its back. That is, until John finally came home.  
“Sherlock, are you okay?”  
No reply.  
“Sherlock, I’m sorry that’s how it turned out. I-I know you’re probably hur-”  
He was interrupted by Sherlock standing up, grabbing his violin, and playing. Telling John to basically shut the hell up and let him have a moment. John then went to his room, not saying another word.   
221 B was filled with sorrowful music for the next several hours, only ending in time for morning tea, when the sun finally rose.


End file.
